


South Side's Bonnie & Clyde

by badtothebinding



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, M/M, also so much kissing, bonnie & clyde au, like seriously all of the kissing, lovesick boyfriends committing robberies together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1842367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtothebinding/pseuds/badtothebinding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Ian/Mickey Bonnie & Clyde AU fic inspired by their honey trap in episode 4x09. </p><p>Ian and Mickey have been terrorizing the North Side, luring creepy douche bags into back alleys and helping themselves to their cash. But how long can they keep it up before running into trouble?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On Your Mark

Stephen Decker has been coming to this club for a few weeks now. He’s looking for something special tonight; a reward for closing a multibillion dollar deal for the firm. As he wades through the flashing lights and glistening, writhing bodies he feels the bass pound through his chest. From the corner of his eye he sees a flash of bright red in the sea of pale skin and black spandex. He feels a welcome stirring as he watches the redhead dance; his body rolling and arms waving freely as the music pulses through the air.

Stephen moves closer as the redhead throws his head back, eyes closed. He gets close enough to touch and the boy’s eyes snap open, locking his green gaze on Stephen and smirking. His long fingers beckon him closer and Stephen grips tight to those lean hips;  he’s close enough now to see the American eagle tattoo standing out proudly on the boy’s alabaster skin. His fingers burn as he rubs the tips against it.

The boy’s lips are soft on his neck as he skims them up to Stephen’s ear. Over Stephen’s shoulder he locks eyes with another pale boy and a grin splits his face unexpectedly. He nods slightly and the other boy smirks, finishing the drink in his hand. The redheaded boy returns his attention to Stephen. His voice is silk but his grip is firm as he reaches for Stephen’s rapidly hardening cock.

“Wanna get out of here?” The redhead smiles.

Stephen swallows convulsively, nodding his head, and follows the boy as he makes his way to the back of the club. He is so wrapped up in the soft feel of pale skin over hard muscles that he doesn’t see the dark haired stranger lingering just off the dance floor watching their every move.

His skin is hot and feverish but he snaps out of the trance as the chill air of the alley cools the sweat on his skin.

“Where are we headed, hot stuff?” He purrs into the boy’s ear.

The redhead smirks, peeling Stephen’s roaming hands off of his skin as he leads him down the alley.

“Don’t worry about it,” the boy murmurs, pulling Stephen further into the shadows.

Stephen turns when he hears the ring of breaking glass from the other end of the alley. A cat comes slinking out of the dark and he huffs a relieved breath, turning back to the red headed boy, who is no longer alone. Behind him stands a shorter dark haired boy with ice blue eyes that blaze out of his pale face. The darker boy smirks at Stephen and pulls a gun from the waistband of his jeans. Stephen reaches out to warn the redhead but his words die in his throat as the other turns, walking behind the darker boy.

“Hey, what the fuck,” Stephen exclaims confusedly as the redhead winds his arms around the shorter boy’s sturdy chest, nuzzling into his neck. He watches, transfixed, as the darker boy closes his eyes, leaning into the touch before refocusing on Stephen. His fingers flex on the gun and Stephen can see black letters spelling FUCK U-UP on his knuckles.

“Yo, ease up a bit,” the thug huffs out as the redhead starts sucking bruises into his neck.

“Mmm, but you taste so good Mick,” the ginger boy mumbles, licking a stripe up to his ear. Stephen glances at the street far behind him and wonders if he could make it to the end without them noticing. He turns but stops sharply when he hears the click of the gun being cocked.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” ‘Mick’ calls out and Stephen turns back to face him.

“Please, take whatever you want. I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt me.” Stephen pleads, raising his hands in the air.

“Calm down, Country Club.” Mickey scoffs. He waves the gun toward Stephen’s shaking hands. “You can start by handing over that fancy Davidoff watch.  And then we’ll take a little walk down the street to the ATM.” Stephen looks helplessly over to the redhead as he hands over his watch and wallet, but the boy is much too preoccupied with groping the boy who is clearly his partner in crime.

..............................

Later, when Mickey and Ian had left the snobby yuppie unconscious under a park bench somewhere they head back to their cozy loft apartment.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Ian growls as the doors close on the industrial elevator in their building. He shoves Mickey harshly into the wall as he presses his lips fiercely against the other boy, who responds just as forcefully. “Watching you intimidate these rich assholes always gets me hot,” he says through clenched teeth as he bites his boyfriend’s earlobe.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey smirks but the grin is lost in a choked gasp as Ian’s hand reaches down and roughly palms his already hard cock. “Jesus Christ, Ian. Can’t this fuckin’ thing go any faster?”

As if on cue, the elevator doors slide open to reveal a short elderly woman in a pale pink housecoat and matching slippers. The woman quietly clears her throat, startling both boys who spring apart to look at her with matching sheepish looks.

Ian is the first to break the silence as they walk out of the elevator onto their floor.

“Good evening, Mrs. Pittman," he says cheerfully, giving a small wave as he tries to smooth down his mussed hair.

“Good evening boys,” Mrs. Pittman replies with a cheeky grin as she catches Mickey adjusting himself. “Having a nice night?”

Mickey scowls, but it’s mostly for show. “The fuck are you still doing up?” He asks cordially.

“Oh, Winston’s missing again, poor dear. You boys will keep an eye out for him won’t you?”

“Oh, no,” Ian frowns. “Of course we will Mrs. Pittman,” he says as he pulls out the keys to their apartment.

Mickey nods, “Yeah, no worries Mrs. P. The fur ball is probably out on the fire escape again. If we see him, we’ll let you know.”

Mrs. Pittman smiles and pats Mickey’s cheek while he grimaces. “I’m so lucky to have such nice young gentlemen as my neighbors. Have a wonderful night boys. I’ll bring over some cookies for you tomorrow. Those snickerdoodle ones Mickey likes so much," she says with a wink.

“Mmm, sounds delicious Mrs. P!” Mickey grins as Ian unlocks the door and starts pulling him inside by the arm.

“Yes, thank you Mrs. Pittman,” Ian calls out as he closes the door behind them. “Good night.”

He slams the door closed and wastes no time shoving Mickey’s back up against it. “God, I thought she’d never stop talking,” he growls as he renews his assault on Mickey’s mouth. “Take your fucking pants off.”

.............................................

**South Side’s ‘Bonnie & Clyde’ continue their spree**

_June 16, 2014_

_Dana Armstrong - Chicago Tribune_

Last night, a Chicago man, who has asked not to be identified, was enjoying a drink at a local nightclub in downtown Chicago when he was lured out into an alley and accosted by two young men. The man was reportedly held at gunpoint while the two assailants took his phone, wallet, and other valuables. The suspects then escorted him to a nearby ATM machine where they forced him to empty his bank account.

“They took my money, and then the shorter one knocked me out,” the man told police. “I woke up several hours later on a park bench a few miles away.”

When asked why he accompanied these strange men out into an alley, the man refused to comment.

However, the Chicago Police Department has confirmed that this is just the most recent in a string of at least three other such assaults. According to a press release from the department, these assaults are not random, but specific, premeditated robberies.

“After speaking with the victims of the other three assaults we have concluded that the suspects are probably between the ages of 17 and 21,” says Chief Thomas Hayes of the Chicago PD. “The first suspect is allegedly around 6 feet 5 inches tall, lean and red haired. The second is said to be shorter, around 5 foot 11, and dark haired with distinctive tattoos on the knuckles of his fingers.”

But these boys are not simply partners in crime. Reports from victims suggest that the boys are also romantic partners.

Darrin Foster, the manager of the Fairy Tale in Chicago’s infamous Boys Town which was the site of the first appearance of this modern day ‘Bonnie and Clyde”, reported that on the night that the pair first struck they entered together.

“I remember them coming in together a few weeks ago. Hair that bright is hard to miss. But then later I saw the redhead dancing with another one of our patrons. The other one must have been waiting outside.”

Although the suspects have committed numerous assaults in the last month police have struggled to get a clear description of the assailants until now.  These suspects are considered armed and dangerous.  Use caution when going out. Always travel in groups.

Contact the Chicago Police Department with any information about these robberies.

 

 


	2. Get Set

Mickey wakes up to sunlight streaming through the shitty blinds in their bedroom window.  He and Ian had decided they needed their own place away from the hustle and bustle of both the Gallagher and Milkovich households. Now they live in a small one bedroom apartment a few blocks down from the Alibi; still close enough to come and go as they please.

Mickey rolls over in bed and notices that Ian’s spot is cold which means he’s either still out on his morning run or maybe cooking breakfast. For his own sake Mickey hopes for the latter. As he shuffles out into the kitchen he can smell the tantalizing scent of fresh brewed coffee and hear the muffled sounds of Ian’s shitty indie music coming from his Iphone on the counter. The boy in question is currently scrambling eggs on the stove while nodding his head to the music. Mickey takes a minute to just admire the view; Ian’s track shorts are tight on his firm ass and his long legs are bare. His tank top shows off his flexing biceps as he reaches up into a cupboard for a mug and turns to pour a cup of coffee.

“Good, you’re up,” he says as he hands Mickey the mug, leaning in for a short kiss before releasing it.

“Mmm, not a bad way to start the morning, Gallagher," Mickey mumbles as he takes a sip of coffee and sits down at the table. Ian smiles as he turns off the stove and scoops some eggs onto two plates.

“I saw Mrs. Pittman again in the hall after my run,” he says as he sits down, depositing a plate of eggs and toast in front of Mickey. “She gave us her newspaper _and_ a tin of snickerdoodles.” At this, Mickey perks his head up and glances to the counter as Ian rolls his eyes, opening the paper. “I don’t know how you did it, but the poor old woman’s in love. If she were 40 years younger I’d be worried she was trying to steal you away,"  Ian grumbles as Mickey ignores his toast in favor of stuffing his cheeks with cookies.

“Whatever man, Mrs. P is awesome,” he says through a spray of crumbs. “And I’m not the one who gets hot for geriatrics. That would be you.”

“Whatever,” Ian scoffs. “It’s those same geriatrics that are paying our rent.” Finished, he gets up to put his dirty plate in the sink. Mickey hurriedly scarfs down the rest of his plate and follows, crowding the taller boy against the counter.

“Hey, we’re lucky she likes us. I’m surprised we haven’t traumatized her with the amount of kinky shit she’s seen us doing,” Mickey says, leering and wiggling his eyebrows. Ian laughs and kisses him, then turns and grabs the paper.

“Wanna sneak into a Sox game today? I wonder what the weather is going to be like,” He says as he opens the paper, but his voice trails as he sees the headline “South Side’s Bonnie and Clyde...” on the bottom half of the Local News section.

“Shit.”

Mickey walks over to look at the paper in Ian’s hands, “what?” He glances at a few lines as Ian ignores him, still reading.

“Shit.”

Ian finishes the article and slaps the newspaper onto the table.

“That’s it,” he announces. “We’re done.”

“The fuck?” Mickey squawks. “What do you mean, done? Do you realize how much cash we got just from last night? No fucking way are we done. We’ve got bills to pay asshole.”

Ian glares over at Mickey. “Are you fucking kidding me? What if we get caught? We could go to prison! This isn’t the same as lifting a couple of Pringles cans and candy bars from the Kash & Grab, Mick. This is serious shit, and I’m not letting us get locked up in the same cell with your psychotic father,” Ian yells, gesturing wildly.

Mickey grimaces, but holds his ground. “Hey, man. Chill the fuck out. No one’s going to fucking prison,” he assures, rubbing his hand down Ian’s arm. He doesn’t say it out loud but he’d die before he’d let Ian get locked up. “Besides,” he says with a grin, “you wouldn’t last a day in prison with that pretty face.” Ian rolls his eyes, not reassured in the least.

Mickey groans.

“C’mon man, it’s not that big a deal. We’ll lay low for a while, and then hit another club in a couple weeks.”

Ian is still unconvinced. “They have descriptions of us Mickey. What if we’re recognized?”

“It’s an article in the bottom half of the fuckin’ local newspaper, not America’s Most Wanted," Mickey scoffs.

“Fine, maybe you’re right, maybe we’re still safe, but I think we should take precautions.”

Mickey doesn’t like the sound of that and he definitely doesn't like how determined Ian looks standing with his arms crossed in front of him.

“The fuck do you mean precautions?”

Ian just smiles.

.....................................

Later, Mickey stares mournfully into the bathroom mirror, pulling on the ends of his now platinum blond hair as if that could somehow make it change back into black.

“Jesus Christ, I look like a fuckin’ ghost,” he mumbles as Ian wanders into the bathroom behind him, his head recently shaved. “This is such bullshit,” he says, glaring.  “I don’t know why I have to be albino, while you just shaved your fuckin’ head.”

“You’re the one who didn’t want to cut yours off,” Ian reminds him, biting back a grin. Mickey made an adorable blonde. “It’s just dye. We can change it back in a few weeks when the hype dies down.” He moves further into the bathroom, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s bare stomach from behind and resting his chin on a pale shoulder. “Besides,” he adds with a nip to Mickey’s jaw, “blondes have more fun, right?”

Mickey’s eyes light up as he meets Ian’s fiery gaze. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you show me how much fun they have?”

Ian turns Mickey around quickly and wastes no time locking his lips on Mickey’s grinning mouth and shoving his boxers down to his feet. Mickey works on Ian’s belt buckle and rips his shirt off in turn as Ian lifts him up onto the sink, wrapping his hand around Mickey’s cock and pumping roughly.

Oh he’d show him alright.

……………………….

Now that they’d altered their appearances, Ian had decided that it was about time that they went out clubbing just for fun.

“We never just go out for fun anymore. I miss dancing just to dance,” Ian complains later in the week. Mickey is only half paying attention, focused instead on the TV in front of him where he is destroying zombies playing Fallout.

“The fuck are you whining about now?” Mickey says distractedly as the screen goes red with blood. Ian sighs and slumps down onto the couch next to his boyfriend.

“I’m just saying it might be fun to go out just for fun.  C’mon, Mick. What’s wrong with fun?” Ian pouts, and Mickey makes the mistake of looking over at him with his fucking puppy dog eyes and adorable pouty mouth. He can’t just give in right away though. No reason for Ian to know how much he makes Mickey melt without even trying. So Mickey groans, pausing the game and throwing the controller on the coffee table before rolling his eyes.

“What’s fun about going out to the clubs unless we end up ripping off some old douche? I fucking hate those clubs; too noisy, too crowded, and they charge a shit ton for a single shot of whisky," Mickey complains.

Ian just shrugs, ignoring this very common rant in favor of reclining further on the couch and shoving his feet into Mickey’s lap, where he starts rubbing them without even thinking. Ian knows this grumbling is all for show. Mickey had followed him to dozens of clubs over the last year, and though he may complain about the drinks, and the noise, and the other patrons, they both appreciated the relative safety and comfort they both felt being in the clubs surrounded by other gay men who wouldn’t judge them for being themselves.

When Mickey’s complaints start to peter off, Ian looks over and meets his eyes, rubbing his feet into Mickey’s legs. Mickey smiles despite himself.

“C’mon grumpus, come out with me,” Ian smirks, knowing he’s won. Mickey’s deep suffering sigh clinches it.

“Ugh, fine. We’ll go, but we’re not going to any of those fucking dance clubs,” he amends, sensing that Ian is already overexcited. “We’re going to a bar and we’re getting shitfaced. No dancing. Just a night out at the bar.” Mickey tries to look stern, but the soft expression in his eyes ruins the effect.

Ian reaches over to kiss Mickey on the cheek, bounding up from the couch and running to the bedroom to get dressed.

“It’ll be so much fun, you’ll see. I promise.”

………………………...

The night starts out well enough. Ian shoves Mickey into a black tank top and tight jeans that show off his muscles and completes the outfit with a new gold chain that shines almost as brightly as the blonde faux hawk on the top of his head.

They take the L downtown to one of the quieter bars in the North Side and find a couple of empty spots at the crowded bar. Ian orders a martini while Mickey bites his tongue and settles for the least pretentious sounding beer on tap. Ian just smiles and pays for their drinks, turning to face the rest of the room.

Hours and quite a few shots later Mickey has to admit, to himself at least, that hanging out with Gallagher at a bar is pretty fun. Usually, Mickey has to physically restrain himself from beating the shit out of every guy who even thinks of looking at Ian. Admittedly, that usually happens anyway, but he can normally hold it in long enough to get the cash first. But tonight, with Ian’s fiery red hair shaved off, he isn’t quite the beacon of attractiveness he usually is and they are left relatively alone for the majority of the night.

Mickey doesn’t notice that although the other patrons aren’t quite that interested in Ian, he seems to be garnering more than his own fair share of attention. Ian notices though, and is torn between feeling a little superior from the jealous stares of the other men and aggressively possessive of his adorable, yet completely oblivious, boyfriend.

Ian shoots a particularly hostile glare over Mickey’s shoulder at a younger looking business man in a handsome grey suit who hasn’t shifted his gaze from Mickey for over twenty minutes. Mickey raises his brows in confusion as Ian reaches for his hand, almost crushing the bones as he squeezes it and then pulls Mickey into a demanding, possessive kiss, never breaking eye contact with the stranger, who simply smirks as Mickey pushes Ian away roughly.

“What the fuck is up with you? You almost broke my fuckin’ hand,” he says, shaking out his hand gingerly.

“That fucking yuppie asshole back there hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night,” Ian says through clenched teeth.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey teases, following Ian’s angry gaze over his shoulder. “You think we should call him over?” He chuckles quietly as Ian bristles. “I guess you were right, Firecrotch. Blondes do have more fun.”

Ian responds with a sharp punch to his arm.

“Ow, fuck.” Mickey rubs his arm, grimacing, but Ian is already looking back over at the stranger, who has _still_ not stopped looking at them. Jesus Christ. Ian has to stop himself from walking over there and smashing the smug asshole in the face. But, wait, maybe there’s a better solution.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he says, turning back to look at Mickey with an eerie smile that makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. That smile had never meant good things for Mickey.

“What?” He asks cautiously.

“Just hear me out,” Ian starts, which sets off an alarm bells in Mickey’s brain. “Let’s show that smug bastard that money can’t buy him everything.” The intensity in Ian’s eyes is slightly worrying at this point and by now Mickey is sure that he won’t be enjoying whatever Ian has planned.

“Okay, so I’ll go out into the alley and when that asshole comes over, you flirt with him a little,” at this Mickey’s jaw drops but Ian continues as if he hasn’t just rocked Mickey’s world. “Bring him outside, and we beat the shit out of him,” Ian finishes, slamming his fist into the table with finality.

He glances at Mickey who remains frozen in place, eyes wide.

“I mean, we’ll take his shit too, of course,” Ian amends quickly. “The guy has to be loaded. Do you see that suit? Armani for sure. Jesus, his fucking tie pin has a goddamned diamond in it.”

Mickey is still silent and Ian finally notices and turns to him.

“Mick? You okay?” Ian asks worriedly.

“Are you fucking kidding me? No I’m not fucking okay!” Mickey explodes. “I don’t _flirt,_ Gallagher. That’s your department. You’re the bait, I’m the muscle. That’s how this works. That’s the _only_ way this works. You are out of your mind if you think I’m letting that creep anywhere _near_ me,” Mickey exclaims, taking a quick gulp of his whiskey, draining the glass.

Ian signals the waitress for another round.

“Make it a double,” Ian adds as Mickey scrubs his hands down his face.

“Triple,” Mickey groans from between his clenched fists where his face is buried in the table.

“C’mon, Mick, it won’t be that bad,” Ian says, shaking Mickey’s shoulders. “I do it every time and you don’t hear me complaining.”

Mickey blanches, shuddering. “Yeah, well, that’s because those fuckin’ queens are all over you anyways.”

Ian laughs, feeling Mickey starting to crumble. The waitress deposits Mickey’s whiskey in front of him and Ian watches as he swallows the whole glass in one large gulp. Mickey winces, shaking his head violently and Ian knows he’s going to take one for the team.

“Fuuuuuck,” Mickey curses, glancing back at the now openly leering man twirling a toothpick in his martini. He catches Mickey’s stare as he bites at the olive, winking lewdly. “Jesus Christ, you better be fucking ready. I don’t know if I can keep myself from decking this moron if he gets too handsy.”

At this thought, Ian’s face hardens again. “Don’t worry. If he touches what’s mine I’ll break his shit off. Okay, I’m going out to the alley. You get him to follow you out there and I’ll take care of the rest.”

...........................

It only takes about fifteen more minutes for Prince Charming to get bold enough to join Mickey at his table. At least he comes bearing a shot of expensive top shelf scotch which he places in front of Mickey as he sits down.

“Thought you looked lonely sitting here by yourself,” he says as Mickey nods and shoots back the scotch, wincing at the burn as the alcohol slides down his throat. The stranger reaches over to rub slender fingers across his knuckles, pausing briefly on the tattoos standing out starkly on the pale digits. Mickey clenches his hands into fists reflexively but forces himself to relax again and look up into the other man’s face.

Prince Charming, or Marc Hayes, he announces with a significant nod while holding out a hand to shake which Mickey reluctantly accepts, is not too old, maybe in his 30s, with thick dark brown hair and grey eyes. He looks pretty tall and lean, athletic, but more from weekly tennis and golf outings rather than actual physical labor. Mickey can objectively admit that the guy isn’t actually bad looking, but nothing can compete with Ian Gallagher’s hard planes and goofy grins. It’s not even a fair comparison in Mickey’s mind.

The guy hasn’t stopped looking at him since he sat down so Mickey offers what he hopes looks like a sincere smile, which he knows he isn’t pulling off but Marc doesn’t seem to notice.

“So what’s your name cutie?” Marc asks, fingers still rubbing over Mickey’s hand and he has to stop himself from recoiling as those fingers reach farther up his arms.

“Mike,” Mickey grunts reluctantly, not even wanting to give this joker that much, but he promised Ian he’d play along and goddammit if Ian can do this shit every time Mickey can fuckin’ well do it just as well.

Marc, still oblivious to Mickey’s discomfort, moves even closer so his mouth is just grazing the shell of Mickey’s ear. “Well, Mike, you seem a little bit dangerous,” he says and Mickey flinches back from the feel of a tongue sliding up his neck. “I like that.” Mickey fights the urge to shove Marc off and decides to end this shit quickly.

“Yo, you wanna get the fuck outta here or what?”

Marc grins widely. “Mmm so forward. I like it.” He leans in for a kiss but Mickey rears back. No fuckin’ way was he kissing this douchebag. That kind of intimate shit was for Ian Gallagher and him alone.

“I’m not a fuckin’ girl,” he says gruffly, shoving Marc back into his own chair. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend here. You wanna fuck or not?”

Marc looks amused, but doesn’t stop his hands from roaming down Mickey’s chest.

“Oh yes,” he replies, getting up and reaching to pull Mickey up with him, but Mickey quickly takes back control, shoving Marc back and towing him to the back of the bar.

Ian watches from the shadows as the two men stumble out the back door into the alley and clenches his fists in fury as Marc reaches down to squeeze Mickey’s ass. That’s it, he decides, not another fucking minute of this bullshit.

He moves out into the light and nods to Mickey, who nods back over Marc’s shoulder. Ian reaches over to tap Marc’s shoulder, taking his attention off of Mickey. He doesn’t seem to notice the worn brass knuckles glinting off of Ian’s right hand.

“Excuse me, can I cut in?” Ian questions as Marc redirects his full attention on the redhead in front of him with the eerily polite smile.

“I’m sorry Red, but finders keepers,” Marc snaps, turning back toward Mickey.

WHAM!

Ian slams his right fist into Marc’s cheek, sending him plummeting to the ground.

“Holy shit, man are you okay?” Mickey asks, reaching down to help Marc up only to knee him roughly in the stomach, driving all of the air out of his lungs as he collapses back onto the ground, gasping and groaning and curling in on himself.

“Goddamn, Rocky,” Mickey says with pride, “didn’t know you had it in ya.” He reaches out, pulling Ian closer and locking his lips with Ian’s as the taller boy grabs fistfuls of his shirt and returns the kiss hungrily.

Marc’s weak wheezing brings them back to the moment at hand and both boys release each other as they return their attention to the man huddled before them.

“Y’know I’m starting to rethink that whole ‘let’s fuck’ idea, Prince Charming,” Mickey drawls as he crouches down in front of Marc, who seems to be getting his breath back slowly. “How about you just hand over your wallet, phone, and whatever other valuable shit you have on you and we call it a night?”

Ian joins them, towering over both men as he remains standing. “Yeah,  I was admiring that Cartier watch back in the bar. I’ll take that as payment for trying to fuck my boyfriend,” Ian says with an evil glint in his eyes.

“Please, take everything,” Marc responds, eyes wide with confusion and hurt as he empties his pockets on the ground. “Just don’t hurt me!”

Ian scoops up Marc’s things and shoves them roughly into his pockets. Mickey leans in closer to Marc who stares back at him.

“Piece of advice,” Mickey offers kindly as he brandishes both fists so Marc can clearly see for the first time that his tattoos spell out ‘FUCK U-UP.’ “These are a fucking warning, not an advertisement.” With that, Mickey stands and lets loose a vicious kick directly to Marc’s jaw, knocking him out cold.

“C’mon Gallagher, let’s get out of here.” Mickey slings an arm around Ian’s shoulders as they walk out into the city. “I’m gonna need a fucking shower to get rid of the smell of that douchebag’s cologne. And you owe me _big time_ for letting that creep touch me without breaking his fucking hands.”

Ian just smiles contentedly and reaches down to link their free hands and kisses his boyfriend’s cheek.

“You did great,” he assures the shorter boy and leans over to whisper in his ear. “And when we get home I’m going to fuck you so hard you won't even remember that smug bastard,” he says fiercely as both boys subconsciously start walking faster in the direction of the nearest L station.


	3. Go!

**BREAKING NEWS AT 11:00**

Good Evening, I’m Sonya Jefferson bringing you tonight’s top stories.

After weeks of relative quiet it was thought that Chicago’s own Bonnie & Clyde had disappeared but it appears they aren’t quite done yet.

Chicago Police are out in force tonight following an attack on 34 year old congressman Marc Hayes, who was brutally attacked by two assailants late last night outside a bar in Chicago’s North Side.

Hayes is the nephew of Chicago Chief of Police Thomas Hayes. Hayes reports that he was leaving a bar late last night when he was attacked and beaten by two assailants. Although his reports of the suspects' appearances differ from initial witness statements, the nature and location of the attack suggests that it was perpetrated by the same two young men as other serial robberies committed by the infamously named ‘South Side Bonnie & Clyde.”

It is believed that the suspects have altered their appearances and they are still at large. On your screen is a sketch of the suspects according to witness reports. Again, these young men are considered armed and dangerous. Proceed with caution and contact your local police station with any information about these assailants.  

..............................

“Fuck!” Ian exclaims, turning off the TV and throwing the remote down on the coffee table angrily. Mickey watches from the couch as Ian begins pacing back and forth across the living room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ian mutters, pulling distractedly at his short hair as he tries to think of some way out of this. Mickey doesn’t seem quite as concerned.

“Jesus Christ, Gallagher, calm down,” Mickey calls out, unperturbed by the fact that they were now wanted criminals. “You act like you’ve never been in trouble with the law before. We’ll just lay low, no big deal. We got enough off that guy last night to last us a few months.”

Ian stops his pacing to stare incredulously at Mickey.

“Lay low?! Are you fucking kidding me?” Ian yells, flinging his arms wide. “This isn’t some little thing we walk away from, Mickey! They’ve got descriptions of us. That guy was a congressman! This isn’t just going to just go away.”

“He was a bitch is what he was,” Mickey continues, still irritatingly calm. “And what the fuck is up with that nickname? South Side’s Bonnie & Clyde? What the fuck is that about?” Mickey grumbles, waving at the TV. “Who the fuck are Bonnie & Clyde anyway?”

“Ugh, you’re unbelievable!” Ian throws his hands in the air and rushes into the bedroom, grabbing a pair of beaten up duffle bags and starts throwing clothes in them haphazardly.

Mickey follows him into the bedroom in time to see Ian trying to shove a pair of boots into an already over stuffed duffle.

“Yo, what the fuck are you doing man?” He asks as Ian gives up trying to close the first duffle and moves into the adjoining bathroom. He swipes his arm across the sink, knocking tubes of toothpaste, toothbrushes, bars of soap, razors, and deodorant all into the bottom of the second bag.

“Ian!” Mickey shouts, reaching out to grab Ian’s arm to stop his constant motion. “Jesus, just stop for a minute.”

“No time,” Ian replies and cranes his neck around to survey the destruction of the bedroom. “We’ve gotta get moving. We gotta skip town. We can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous. I’m not letting us get caught," Ian mutters almost too fast for Mickey to follow. “C’mon Mickey,” he says when he notices Mickey hasn’t moved.  “Get your shit together and we can be gone in twenty minutes. We can leave most of the stuff here for now and have Mrs. P send it to us later.”

At this, Mickey decides to interrupt.

“Whoa, whoa, calm your shit there tough guy,” he says, stopping Ian with a soft hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean ‘send it later?’  What are you talking about?”

Ian finally stops and meets his boyfriend's eyes, slumping his shoulders tiredly.

“We can’t stay here Mickey. We’re going to get caught. It’s just a matter of time, and I’m not letting that happen, so we have to leave. We’ll go somewhere new, start fresh. Chicago’s full of bad memories for both of us anyways," Ian says quietly. Mickey’s face softens and he pulls down Ian’s head for a sweet kiss.

“Hey,” he says as they break apart, foreheads still touching. “They weren’t all bad memories.”

Ian grins, eyes shining, and reaches down again to meet Mickey’s kiss with renewed vigor. Hands grip at each other desperately as the boys collapse on the bed, tossing bags and debris off of the rumpled sheets as they cling to each other; never once breaking contact.

Later, when they lay side by side covered in nothing but sweat, Mickey turns to face Ian with a gentle kiss.

“What about your family? Mandy?” He asks quietly as he meets Ian’s eyes. “We just gonna leave them behind?”

“We’ll let them know we’re leaving,” Ian decides. “We can contact them when we find a place to settle down. They can come visit, and we can come back when everything dies down. Maybe a few months?” Ian rubs his thumb across Mickey’s cheek as the darker boy closes his eyes and leans into it. When he opens them it is with a sense of determination. He literally couldn’t deny this fuckin’ kid anything.

“ _Fine_ ,” he sighs heavily, rolling out of bed and picking up a mostly clean towel off of the floor. “Let me take a fucking shower while you pack up the rest of our shit. We can lift a car and be out of this shithole in less than an hour. Hey!” He shouts as Ian jumps off of the bed, tackling him to the ground and kissing him deeply.

.......................................

As promised, the boys are packed and on the freeway in a stolen car in less than an hour.

“Shit,” Mickey complains as they reach the outskirts of eastern Chicago. “This piece of shit needs gas.”

“Already?” Ian asks worriedly. “Can we get any farther?”

“No big deal, we’ll stop for some gas and be back on the road in five minutes tops,” Mickey says as he exits the freeway and turns into the nearest gas station.

Mickey starts filling the tank while Ian gets out and stretches his arms above his head.

“I’m going in to get some food,” he says. “You want anything?” A sliver of taut pale skin peeks out from the bottom of his t-shirt and when he looks back over at Mickey the other boy is leering.

“Yeah, man, see if they got any Slim Jims,” Mickey answers with a smirk, lifting his eyebrows suggestively. Ian laughs and shakes his head as he walks away.

“Fuckin’ dork.”

The door chimes as Ian walks inside the mini mart but the bored-looking attendant barely looks away from the TV playing in the corner of the room. Ian ignores him as he heads down the aisles gathering Pringles and Gatorade and even a few Slim Jims for his idiot boyfriend. He glances out the dirty front window to look at Mickey just in time to see the police squad car pull in directly behind their getaway car. One of the officers starts pumping gas behind Mickey as the other walks towards the store. Ian sees Mickey give a stiff nod at the first cop and turn quickly to meet Ian’s eyes.

“Be cool,” he mouths to Ian, who nods and walks calmly but quickly to the front of the store to pay for their snacks.

He looks everywhere but at the police officer behind him as the cashier moves at a glacial place as he fills a plastic bag with Ian’s purchases. Ian taps his fingers nervously against his thighs and looks up at the dusty TV to distract himself.

The local news is on and Ian gets a sinking feeling as he sees a rough sketch of his and Mickey’s faces and listens with dread as the female reporter says “a sketch of the suspects according to witness reports. Again, these young men are considered armed and dangerous. Proceed with caution and contact your local police station with any information about these assailants.”

Ian stands frozen as the clerk reaches out a hand with his change. He grabs his bags with numb fingers and turns to walk out the door, accidentally bumping shoulders with the officer, who is still watching the TV but locks eyes on Ian just as he turns.

“Hey,” the officer reaches out to grab Ian’s shoulder and his other hand reaches slowly down to rest on his firearm. “Wait a minute, son. I want to ask you a few questions.”

Ian doesn’t wait to hear the rest as he swings the full bag of food into the officer’s face and bolts out the door.

“Hey, get back here!” The officer calls out from the ground but Ian is already halfway to the car where Mickey is waiting with the engine already running. The other officer is nowhere to be seen.

Ian just reaches the car when he hears a shot and pain explodes in his left arm. He doesn’t even pause as he jumps into the passenger seat and Mickey peels out of the station and back onto the road. Looking back, Ian guesses that the other officer had been coming out of the bathroom in the back when he heard the commotion up front. A sharp pain in his arm brings Ian back to the present as he lifts his shirt sleeve to see blood seeping out of a shallow gash on his bicep.

“Fuck, that fucking hurts,” Ian says through gritted teeth as Mickey looks over worriedly. “It’s just a graze though I think.”

“It’s about time you were the one getting shot, Sundance.” Mickey says with a forced smile, but his knuckles are white on the steering wheel and he presses a little too hard on the gas pedal.

Ian smiles tightly as he presses a wad of fast food napkins he finds in the glove box to his wound. He reaches over to Mickey’s hand on the stick shift and grimaces as he pulls Mickey’s hand to his lips, kissing it briefly before dropping it with a grunt of pain.

“What makes you think I’m Sundance?” He asks with a weak smirk.

Mickey looks slightly relieved as he returns his attention to the road in front of them, merging onto the freeway much faster than is advisable.

“Are you kidding me? I’m clearly the brains of this operation,” he says with forced nonchalance. “That makes me Butch Cassidy.”

“Whatever you say, Butch.”

“Damn right. Now you just take it easy, tough guy."

...................................

By nightfall the car is parked in front of a grungy motel room somewhere in northern Ohio. Ian is sitting on the edge of the double bed while Mickey dabs at his wound with a wad of toilet paper soaked in hydrogen peroxide they grabbed from the convenience store down the street.

“Shit that stings,” Ian winces as Mickey tosses the bloody tissues into the tiny trash bin and slaps a square of gauze on his arm. Seeing Ian’s grimace of pain, the darker boy’s fingers move a little more gently as he tapes down the edges of the gauze and rolls the sleeve of the redhead’s clean new shirt down to cover it.

“All done,” Mickey says as he lays back on the stained bedspread, just now realizing how fucking tired he is. Ian leans back to lay beside him gingerly, still favoring his arm.

“Thanks, Mick.”

“It’s just a flesh wound you big baby,” Mickey responds but his words lack any real malice. “I’ve had much worse bullet wounds, thanks to you,” he finishes with a fond smile.

Ian stays silent but his guilty gaze stays fixed on Mickey, who quickly changes the subject.

“So, where we headed, Butch? This is your big escape plan,” he says, eyes twinkling.

Ian perks up a little, linking his hand with Mickey’s.

“I’ve always wanted to see New York City...”


End file.
